


The Adventure of the Great Heart

by donutsweeper



Category: The Great Mouse Detective (1986)
Genre: Action/Adventure, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-20
Updated: 2014-12-20
Packaged: 2018-02-26 16:22:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,877
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2658500
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/donutsweeper/pseuds/donutsweeper
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Basil's newest case brings not only adventure, but also peril with it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Adventure of the Great Heart

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Violsva](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Violsva/gifts).



> A Yuletide treat for Violsva.
> 
> Thanks to Kaesa for the beta!

It was a cold and wet March, one fraught with mystery and adventure, great triumphs and significant sorrows. But, as I often do, I am getting ahead of myself. My name is David Q. Dawson, recently of the Queen's 66th Regiment, currently a locum physician and part time investigator working alongside my good friend Basil of Baker Street. 

The particular incident of which I refer to in this missive was one of significant peril to myself and resulted in my dear companion showing his heart was as great as the brain he is so famous for. The year was 1899 and the winter had been both a harsh and engaging one.

Basil and I had been kept busy by the criminal element during the past few months: a counterfeiting gang, a kidnapping, numerous incidents of thievery, all cases we saw to successful conclusions, and at first there was nothing that presented itself of our latest client that suggested the case she brought would result in being anything other than a simple incident of blackmail. Little did I know our investigation would nearly cost me everything while, at the same time, providing me with more than I could have ever hoped.

Our client was a lovely young lady, Miss Sarah Cartier, recently of the Stratford Downs, who came to Basil with a blackmail letter that she had received the evening prior. It seemed a rather cut and dried situation: her great aunt had recently passed away, leaving Miss Cartier as the sole beneficiary to a rather sizeable estate. A distant cousin, James Whitcomb, protested his exclusion from the will and, in a suspicious bit of timing, he voiced demands that she share a large portion her inheritance on precisely the same day she received a note which threatened to do harm of an unexplained nature to her reputation if she did not leave a significant sum of money in a satchel at a certain corner of Covent Garden in two days' time.

Both Basil and I were instantly suspicious of said cousin. Upon examining the threatening missive Basil immediately deduced it was written by a left-handed middle aged male mouse using his right hand and that the writer was a man of leisure whose circumstances had recently turned for the worse. 

"See the quality of this paper, old man?" he expounded. I leant over his arm to get a better look but without Basil's magnifying glass all I could deduce was it was thick and, therefore, likely expensive. "I recognize the watermark; ten years ago it was the height of fashion to use this particular stationer's wares, but no longer." Then he pointed to the writing. "The uneven width of the lettering shows all the signs of a overly worn quill, while the slight smudging is an unfamiliar grip resulting in the paw's movement across the page before the ink was dry." 

"James is a lefty," Miss Cartier announced, sounding slightly dismayed. It was of no surprise to either of Basil or I when, upon further inquiry, we learnt that he was also middle aged and that he recently lost the majority of his money due to some poor investments he had made. 

After questioning her further, we discovered that dear Miss Cartier was more concerned as to what tarnishing might befall her reputation and wished to hire Basil not to prevent the delivery of the blackmail money, but rather to discover what information would be unleashed if she were to withhold payment. 

"Forgive me, Miss Cartier," Basil had then exclaimed, looking up from his examination of the ransom note, "but am I to understand that it does not matter to you who this blackmailer is? Instead you are only interested in discovering what harm he is capable of doing to your reputation?"

Basil answered his own question, "As I can see from the ring on your finger - an antique, you can tell from the diamond's cut and its high polish - that you are engaged to be married to someone well above your station, given the state of your boots which are fashionable, but not of Parisian leather. The ring has been worn for a lengthy period, I noticed the wear mark on your gloves. No doubt you are now worried that your long awaited wedding is in jeopardy due to the threatened blackmail. If there was any basis to this threat to be found then there was the chance that the family of your beloved could unearth the so-called secret as well."

Miss Cartier was amazed by Basil's deductions and stated she was positive she was unaware who might be behind the blackmail or what damaging piece of evidence it might entail and I believed her, although I could tell that Basil did not. Nevertheless, we took the case and sent her to visit with friends out of town and thus out of danger. It was the matter of only half a day's investigation to collect adequate proof that James Whitcomb had written the missive. Interestingly, the evidence Basil and I collected also inferred that Whitcomb had participated in many financial dealings of an illicit nature over the past few years, something Miss Cartier had failed to mention. 

"I must admit, I do not understand," I exclaimed to Basil, voicing my confusion. "Why would someone with a criminal background commit such an action as blackmail and thus put himself in the path of an investigation?"

"Unlike Professor Ratigan, Dawson," Basil expounded, patting me on the shoulder as he was wont to do whilst he explained his deductions, "most mice of the criminal persuasion are not overly intelligent. It could be he simply assumed Miss Cartier would be too concerned about tarnishing her reputation given her upcoming nuptials, and therefore would pay the blackmail money without bringing the note to a detective or the police."

We spent the remaining time researching Miss Cartier herself because forewarned was forearmed as Basil always said. It was important for our client's peace of mind that we ensured the blackmailer's ability to ruin her reputation was as unlikely a possibility as we could make it to be. As we could not unearth anything untoward about either her or any of her immediate acquaintances we were able to ascertain the groundlessness of the blackmailer's threat. Therefore we easily convinced Miss Cartier that there was no need to pay the blackmailer and that setting him up to be captured instead would be the smartest thing to do.

The plan to catch the blackmailer was simple enough. Specific instructions had been included in the letter detailing where and how to leave the blackmail payment and Basil proposed we hide ourselves at that location and wait to see who showed up to pick up the payment. Miss Cartier would leave a satchel next to the newspaper stand as ordered, but the bag would be filled with paper scraps instead of bank notes. Then, when Mister Whitcomb came to collect his prize the two of us would swoop in and grab the mouse before he could abscond with the bag. Caught red-handed, as they say, it would be easy to turn him over to the authorities and Miss Cartier would be free to marry as she wished without fear of any lies about her being spread.

So, that morning Basil and I changed into plain, unobtrusive suits that would not draw any attention in a place like Covent Garden and we set off to find spots to hide ourselves before Whitcomb arrived. As it turned out there was a shoeshine boy practically next to the newsstand so Basil set to having his shoes shined while he waited while I purchased a morning paper and set to reading it, pretending to be completely absorbed by the current events.

At precisely nine o'clock the trap was set, the bag having been left by Miss Cartier as she had been ordered to. I had become quite skilled by this time in the art of acting inconspicuous and had no difficulty in keeping one eye on the satchel while making it seem I was engrossed by my paper and continued to read as time passed. Basil, on the other hand, had mistimed Whitcomb's retrieval of his ill-gotten gains and despite telling the boy to give him his best shilling shine it finished before Whitcomb made an appearance. As a result, Basil was forced to leave the immediate area and wander the square under the guise of a gentleman of leisure taking in the sights. 

Thus, as it happened, when Whitcomb finally did make his appearance, Basil was far enough down the street that I had to grapple with our malefactor by myself. Between my army days and certain, more underhanded, skills I learnt under Basil's tutelage it was only the matter of a moment's work to divest Whitcomb of the bag and force him down to his knees on the cobblestones.

"Dawson! Good work, old chap!" Basil yelled as he approached. "Now if you can keep a hold of him I shall fetch a constable and - Look out!"

Suddenly Whitcomb exploded with activity, tearing his right paw out of my grasp. Before I could react, he'd unearthed a wicked looking knife from a sheath above his ankle and brandished it in my direction. I jumped back, releasing him entirely, expecting him to take the opportunity to escape, but instead he lunged forward, angrily slashing at me. I responded by throwing a right cross, connecting with his jaw, knocking him unconscious. 

It was only after Basil grabbed me that I realized I was suddenly rather dizzy and finding it difficult to stay upright. That was when I noticed that my paw was pressed against my side, against the deep laceration there, although it was doing little to staunch the flow of blood from the wound. With Basil's help I sank to the ground instead of falling and it was to his worried, "Hang in there, old boy, help is on the way," that I passed out.

I awoke some time later in hospital, Basil pacing the ward floor at the foot of my bed. "Basil?"

"Dawson!" Basil cried as he practically flew to my side, sitting down at the chair at my bedside. 

"Did we capture Whitcomb? He didn't get away, did he?" 

"That was a jolly good right hook you've have. Once you felled the brigand he did not get up again." Basil's jovial nature abandoned him then and he grabbed my paws and held them tight within his own. "Of course, you did not get up again either. You had me rather worried."

"I do apologize, Basil. I didn't even realize he managed to wound me at first," I began, but he interrupted me.

"And you are never to allow yourself to be wounded like that again, dear fellow," Basil exclaimed as he brought our paws up to his face and pressed his lips against them. "Never again."

I couldn't help but raise an eyebrow in surprise at his action; Basil had always been one to show his amazing intelligence but never before had I seen his great heart displayed in such a manner, let alone directed at me. 

I squeezed his paw in response and smiled. "Never, Basil. Never."


End file.
